He dreamed of Chingachgook on the river, paddling by torchlight. Suspended over the world as he coasted on the wind, Nathaniel watched the old man sing his hunting song, calling the deer to him. A buck appeared on the shore as if he had been waiting for this summons all of his life and swam toward the canoe, his eyes reflecting red and gold in the torchlight. Chingachgook raised his gun and his voice broke, a different rhythm now: his own death song. The river twisted and turned, and Chingachgook disappeared. In his place, Elizabeth floated on the waters of the great river, her arms beating like wings and her hair spread around her in a halo. Her white body was swollen great with child. The river turned her like a log, darkening her skin to the color of tarnished copper as she rolled, changing her shape, uncoiling her hair. Sarah, now. Sarah's face, and in her lifeless arms, a baby, a too—still baby neither white nor red but mottled gold and chestnut and a deep earth color, a neck ringed in bruised greens and blues. Dark hair ruffled like down in the breeze.

Nathaniel woke with a start, his heart beating in his throat. She was there, kneeling next to him.

"You were dreaming." Her face was furrowed with concern. "I've never seen you sleep in the day like this."

He put his hands on her, wordlessly.

"What is it?" She caught his hands, held them still. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "Just a dream." Just a dream. He rubbed a hand over his face. "What happened with van der Poole?"

Elizabeth cast a glance over her shoulder toward Bennett. He studied his shoe buckles, his hands crossed at the small of his back.

"There is good news," she began. "He seems to believe that Richard is alive and that we are not responsible for his absence. But neither will he dismiss the lawsuit."

"Damn."

She closed her eyes briefly. "All is not lost. He has set a court date in September. If Richard does not appear for that, then his claim will be automatically dismissed."

"It is a formality, I think," said Bennett. "He is well disposed toward you or he would not have asked us to join him for dinner. It is a good sign."

"Elizabeth doesn't seem to think so, not by the look on her face." Nathaniel rose, and helped her to her feet.

"I am not sure one way or the other," she said. "I suppose it will depend on the dinner conversation."

"Your condition is enough cause for us to stay away, if you don't care to go," Nathaniel said.

Mr. Bennett looked between them. "What is this? Good tidings?" He cleared his throat. "Well, then, Mrs. Bonner. You should certainly stay away if it will distress you, given your hopeful expectations."

She managed a thin smile. "Do you think that we can really risk the judge's goodwill?"

When Mr. Bennett did not immediately respond, she nodded. "Your silence speaks quite loudly. Well, I will cope. But first I need to go to the shops."

"You require a dress for this evening," Mr. Bennett guessed.

"I require spectacles," said Elizabeth. "And a supply of new quills."

* * *

Because they did not have any other molds, Runs-from-Bears had melted down about twenty pounds of the Tory Gold in a makeshift forge and cast a fortune in bullets. These Nathaniel had been carrying in double—sewn leather pouches next to his skin since they left Paradise, ten pounds on each side. In Johnstown this unusual currency would have caused a stir, but Albany was a town built on some two hundred years of high intrigue and trading shenanigans. Comfortable Dutch and British merchants had made large fortunes running illegal furs from Canada, reselling silver spoons stolen in Indian raids on New England families much like their own, and bartering second—grade wampum and watered rum for all the ginseng root the native women could dig up, which they then traded to the Orient at an outrageous profit. A sack of golden bullets would raise nothing more in an Albany merchant than his blood pressure.

Gold went for seventeen dollars an ounce on the open market; Nathaniel stipulated sixteen and the doors to the city's warehouses opened to him on well—oiled hinges. If the merchants of Albany had ever heard rumors of Tory Gold, or been told of the state's keen interest in recovering that treasure, they were struck with a sudden and thorough epidemic of forgetfulness which would last until they estimated that Nathaniel had exhausted his resources.

Elizabeth had followed the trading quietly, but she had not missed a step of what went on; Nathaniel was sure of it. She watched with narrowed eyes as he negotiated the exchange of one bag of gold for a note signed by Leendert Beekman, not the biggest or most successful merchant in Albany, but one of the few Nathaniel trusted. While his clerks took care of Nathaniel's requests, from gunpowder, flints, and pig iron to hair ribbons and a bag of peppermint drops for Hannah, Beekman took Elizabeth's list and waited on her personally, measuring flour and sprigged lawn, sewing needles and China tea. He produced a display case of spectacles, spread out spools of thread and brass buttons for her examination, and debated with her the relative qualities of various kinds of ink. When she had chosen three dozen new quills, he produced a sheet of paper and showed Elizabeth his latest acquisition: an artificial quill. A mahogany stem was inset with carved ivory, and tapered down to a nib of copper and silver. A magical contrivance that would hold more ink than a quill, and never need to be sharpened.

She held it as another woman might hold a jewel she believed to be too extravagant to even contemplate owning. With a small smile, Elizabeth returned the pen to Beekman and thanked him for his trouble.